Chapter 155: The Golden Council
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 155: The Golden Council
Ferda arrived at the entrance of the Golden Council.
The nobles gathered as spectators were already fixated on him. Their gazes were frigid, as if they were looking at a man who had just walked away from a gruesome murder.
A moment later, a man came rushing through the frozen crowd. It was Alexander.
My imagination is far too limited, Ferda thought.
He had expected Alexander to come looking for trouble after seeing the procession, but he hadn't anticipated just how unsightly the prince would be in his rage.
"I greet the Crown Prince of the Empire," Ferda said, offering a feigned greeting intended to make Alexander’s blood boil.
"Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!"
"I’m afraid I don’t follow, Your Highness."
"As a noble of the Empire, have you no pride? What on earth was that display? You’ve brought shame upon every aristocrat in this land!"
In truth, what Ferda had prepared bordered on taboo. A noble was meant to be a being of constant radiance—an object of reverence. To dare court the sympathy of commoners was seen as a sign of pathetic weakness.
"I was told there were no ceremonial uniforms to wear," Ferda replied calmly.
"No ceremonial uniforms?!"
"Indeed. These soldiers from the Far East were only issued the armor they are currently wearing by the Empire."
"Don't give me that! You’ve partnered with the Pascal Trading Company, yet you claim you couldn't even provide formal attire?"
"I am simply calling a lack of something what it is. To claim we have what we do not—would that not be an act of deception?"
"You dare...!"
Alexander glared at Ferda, attempting to exert his aura to intimidate him. But Ferda remained unmoved. Instead, it was Alexander who eventually turned his head away, unsettled by a chilling depth in Ferda’s eyes that felt as though it might swallow him whole.
"Count Consilus!"
"Yes, Your Highness."
Alexander redirected his fury toward the old man standing behind Ferda like an attendant. Consilus bowed his head quietly.
"Do you truly believe that procession was befitting the dignity of a noble?!"
"I see no issue with it," Consilus replied steadily.
"Wh-what?!"
"In my eyes," Consilus continued, "everyone in that line showed a response perfectly suited to the current situation."
"Suited to the situation?"
"Yes. This is not a time for laughter and cheering. Should we not take a moment to honor the soldiers who died in the Far East and the total annihilation of an entire legion? I believe it was appropriate for the circumstances."
"How dare you... Are you implying this is my fault and that you are blameless?!"
"How could that be? You are the Crown Prince, soon to be our Emperor..."
Consilus’s head was bowed, but his words were sharp and clear. Alexander felt a sudden urge to execute these two insolent rebels on the spot. Just as he was about to burst into a tirade of abuse, a voice cut through the tension.
"A pleasure to meet you, Regent."
It was a voice that commanded the atmosphere. Waldemar Golt, the man with the real power in the Crisis Response Headquarters. Even the hot-headed Crown Prince paled the moment he stepped forward.
Ferda took a step to greet him as the representative, but Consilus moved ahead of him, giving Ferda a subtle gesture. He was signaling that he would handle this.
"It is a true honor to see the great hero, Grand Duke Golt, once again."
Consilus’s polite voice carried a faint chill. Ferda realized then that the two were already acquainted.
"Good to see you, Ulvera. Life in the Far East must have been quite a burden."
"Is there any place in this world that isn't a burden, Your Grace?"
"True. But in such places, is it not important to maintain a steadfast appearance?"
Waldemar was taking a subtle jab at the lack of ceremonial dress. Consilus bowed his head once more.
"My apologies. The knights of the Far East were in such poor straits that we could not afford to set aside ceremonial gear."
"It seems your finances are in dire shape. Did you not send a request to the Empire?"
"Is everyone not struggling? The Empire is facing its own hardships; how could we send such a letter under these conditions?"
"The nobles might not know because they don't cross the wall, but surely it's different for the private soldiers? What would happen if their weapons were so worn that they broke at a critical moment, leading to their deaths?"
Consilus flinched. That was exactly what had happened before Ferda partnered with Stephan—a soldier had met a senseless death when his old weapon snapped. Consilus was reminded of his own powerlessness back then.
"You need not worry about that any longer. We will not show such a disappointing sight again."
"Hmm, glad to hear it."
Finishing his conversation with Consilus, Waldemar turned his gaze toward Ferda.
"A pleasure to meet you, Regent Ferda."
"The honor is mine, Grand Duke Golt."
"I am truly impressed. To think you would use such armor to completely flip public sentiment."
"We simply showed the world the reality of the work we have done."
"Indeed. Hard work is useless if no one notices it."
Waldemar glanced briefly at Alexander before turning away.
"I look forward to your other preparations."
Ferda knew, and Waldemar knew as well. This hearing would not be a fight against Alexander, but a battle against the Far East itself. Ferda watched the man’s retreating figure.
What a bizarre old man.
He looked like a typical elderly man with deep wrinkles, someone whose back should be hunched with age, yet his posture was perfectly straight. Ferda had checked several times out of suspicion, and his assessment was certain.
His skin might be that of a man in his nineties, but his internal state is that of someone in their thirties.
It was ironic. Usually, if one could rejuvenate themselves, they would restore both their skin and their internal organs. If forced to choose one, most would prioritize their skin, as looking old often invites contempt.
He’s trying to make people lower their guard.
People would be wary of a man who looked thirty, but what about a frail old man? It was more profitable to flatter a man who looked like he was on his deathbed than to oppose him. After all, there was always the hope of being mentioned in his will.
To use oneself as bait... Ferda was suddenly reminded of Olivia’s face.
"Regent, you must enter..."
"I understand."
Ferda walked down the hallway toward the council chamber. There, he saw groups of nobles and the knights lining them up. These were the bailiffs—the only individuals permitted to carry weapons in the council where the only allowed combat was verbal.
Unlike the Grand Council, this was a human structure, so they conducted individual body searches. They repeated the same phrase to every noble like parrots.
"Carrying weapons into the Post Mortem session is strictly prohibited. If a weapon is found, you will be removed regardless of the reason and may face corresponding penalties. Please keep this in mind."
"Understood."
Consilus handed his sword to the guard knights, and Ferda unbuckled his ceremonial sword and handed it over before his turn. The procedure was similar to what Consilus had undergone, but the bailiff added one more sentence for Ferda.
"I understand that Regent Ferda is a mage?"
"I am."
"Please wear this."
The bailiff held out a pair of magic restraint handcuffs. They were magic tools designed to interfere with spellcasting by suppressing mana emission, and they had the effect of knocking the wearer unconscious if they attempted to concentrate a large amount of mana suddenly.
Ferda didn't appreciate being treated like a criminal. However, given historical precedents of mages attempting suicide bombings, it was an unavoidable protocol.
"Very well."
Ferda accepted them humbly. As he tried to enter after putting on the restraints, the bailiff blocked him again.
"You cannot bring that staff inside either."
The bailiff gestured toward the elegant staff Ferda was holding.
"Do you think I’m going to beat someone to death with this?"
"Ordinary canes are fine, but magic tools are prohibited."
"Regrettably, this is not a magic tool."
"Then may I request a formal appraisal from a mage?"
If it were a magic tool, the standard procedure would be to deny it and try to slip past. For a mage, letting someone else touch their magic tool was a mark of shame.
"Go ahead and inspect it."
But Ferda had nothing to hide. The bailiff, puzzled by his confidence, requested an appraisal from the mages on duty.
In reality, the staff was indeed a magic tool, crafted by the first witch, Lucy Philias. However, Ferda could be so bold because he had verified it multiple times before coming. No one other than Ferda could use that staff as a magic tool. It held no residual mana and showed no traces of inscribed formulas, making it impossible to identify as a magic tool.
Let’s see who is stronger: the first witch or the Empire...
The result came back.
"It’s just a staff. My apologies."
The inspector returned the staff and added, "It’s a magnificent piece of wood."
"Thank you for the empty praise."
Ferda took the staff and entered the chamber. The Golden Council hall, which he was seeing for the first time with a clear mind, stretched out before him. He had seen the Grand Council once, but he had seen the Golden Council several times before. Yet, the feeling it evoked was always the same.
It was grand, luxurious, and fresh—exactly what one would expect from the Empire. It was a place designed to make the nobles who entered feel a surge of pride.
And a place that amplifies the desire to protect one's seat at any cost.
It deepened factionalism, driving the rising factions to do anything for promotion and the traditionalists to resort to any dirty trick to protect their status. To the architects of this system, not only the commoners but even the nobles were merely consumables.
Ferda had no interest in their squabbles. Whether they were new blood or old guard, he had already shown them exactly what happened to those who crossed him.
The Golden Council was packed. The assembly seats were filled with nobles, and the second-floor galleries were crowded with journalists and spectators.
"We shall now convene the Arken Empire Crisis Response Meeting."
The man opening the session was Akad Debelung, a close associate of Waldemar and one of the high committee members. Unlike the gaunt Waldemar, Akad was a middle-aged, stout man with a gentle impression. His warm smile naturally made people feel at ease.
Standing at the chairman’s podium, he began to speak with solemnity.
"Our Empire..."
There was a weight to his solemnity that struck deep.
"Has a long and storied history, built on the slogan that there is nothing humanity cannot conquer. We have a duty to inherit, protect, and develop the legacy of our ancestors. However, one month ago, ten percent of the Empire's territory was contaminated due to a large-scale monster summoning incident. An entire legion of our great citizens was annihilated. Nearby villages have suffered immense damage. Had we responded more swiftly to this crisis, we could have halved the casualties."
His somber tone was designed to steer the opening of the session into an emotional direction.
"We cannot overlook this matter, and thus, for the first time in twelve years, the Crisis Response Committee has been convened. We shall now begin the post-mortem of the aftermath."
Akad turned a page in his documents.
"Witness, the Emperor’s representative and Crown Prince, Alexander Arken, please step forward to the podium to testify."
Alexander, who had been sitting in the front, stood up and walked forward. His expression was twisted into a heavy, somber mask, though it was clearly an act.
"I am Crown Prince Alexander Arken. I swear to speak only the truth in this sacred Golden Council. I will begin by offering my deepest condolences to the soldiers of the legion who were sacrificed in this crisis."
Alexander’s testimony continued from there. He explained how he had structured the strategy and how he had intended to deal with the monsters. It was following the exact scenario Ferda had anticipated.
"Crown Prince."
"Yes, Committee Member."
"I see here a record of a conversation held with Regent Ferda through an Imperial mage. What was discussed?"
"That was a communication from the Far East when the first super-sized monster was forming a siege."
"And what was the content?"
"Regent Ferda requested aid, and I responded that I would send reinforcements."
Naturally, he omitted the part where he had engaged in a power struggle with Ferda.
"But you didn't send the reinforcements, did you?"
The person who spoke up abruptly was Erdes. The woman, who had been looking bored and braiding her hair, suddenly threw out the question.
"Member Roton, please obtain the right to speak before addressing the floor."
"Oh, right, right. So, are you going to give me the floor or not?"
"...You have the floor."
Debelung gave her an extremely displeased look, but Erdes ignored it and repeated her question.
"From what I know, the annihilation happened a month after the incident started. There are rumors that you didn't send a subjugation force for that entire month and then suddenly scrambled at the last minute. Am I mistaken?"
"Ah, well, that part of the story has been somewhat distorted..." Alexander began to make desperate excuses. "The force mobilized was the 4th Legion, a unit specialized in monster subjugation. To face 'monsters' rather than ordinary 'beasts,' we had to construct a meticulous strategy. As you know, monsters and regular beasts are quite different."
"I know. But it seems the idiots in your legion spent a whole month figuring that out and still did something stupid?"
"Yes. As the commander-in-chief, I feel a deep sense of responsibility for that."
"Hmm, fine."
She waved her hand dismissively as if she were bored and wanted him to move on. Just as it seemed the matter would be glossed over, someone else raised their hand.
"I find myself compelled to ask a question following that line of inquiry."
"Yes, please proceed."
Waldemar politely obtained the floor and looked at Alexander. The old man’s eyes held the sharpness of a master’s blade that could cleave a mountain in two.
"Crown Prince Alexander. In the case of the Archduchy of Valdrova, the forces moved as two separate divisions. The first was the existing Far East Union, and the second was recorded as being commanded by the Imperial Princess, Olivia Arken."
"That is correct."
"After closely reviewing the records sent by the Archduchy and the legion's own logs, I have arrived at two possible conclusions. First, the Far East achieved an impossible victory through divine grace. Second, the entire 4th Legion was drunk, agreed to an absurd tactic, and acted like moths flying into a flame. Personally, which direction do you think it was?"
Alexander looked troubled and answered tentatively.
"The... in the case of the Far East, they were familiar with how to deal with monsters, and their strength was overwhelming compared to ours."
"Did the Far East not fight while burdened by a super-sized monster?"
"From what we’ve confirmed, aside from its production capabilities, it had no combat power and was essentially a non-combatant entity."
"Then you are saying that if you had struck early, there was a higher probability that this disaster would not have occurred?"
"...That is correct."
As expected of the Grand Duke, Ferda thought. He was a master at cornering people with their own words.
Of course, this is likely part of the scenario as well.
If Ferda hadn't received Helus’s report, he might have been fooled into thinking Waldemar was genuinely attacking Alexander. But Waldemar’s ultimate target was Ferda. This was all just the buildup.
Ferda glanced over and caught Consilus’s eye. It was a silent question: Do you think things will go smoothly?
Naturally, Consilus shook his head.
"We shall conclude the questioning here. We will move on to the next witness."
A sweating Alexander stepped down. Akad called out the next name.
"Representative of the Far East, Regent Ferda Valdrova, would you please step forward?"
Ferda stood up at the summons.
"May the grace of Alte be with you," Consilus whispered a prayer to himself.
Ferda wondered if that 'God' would ever help someone like him, whom He had cursed for a lifetime.
Only humans can help humans.
Ferda stood upon the podium.